


Two Boys in a Study Room

by Anonymous



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nerd Jughead, jock reggie, reghead, tutor jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jughead is Reggie's tutor





	Two Boys in a Study Room

WEEK ONE 

"Oh fuck off," Reggie groaned, slamming shut his book and pushing it away from him as Jughead walked through the door. The beanie-wearing loner shot him a smug look. "I'm serious, Donnie Darko. You've got a shit ton of crazy under that hat if you think I'm siting here and letting you tutor me." 

Jughead shrugged, the door closing behind him as he set his satchel on the desk. "I don't really care what you do, Reggie. I get the extra-credit regardless." Another shit-eating smirk was fired towards the chiselled athlete. He eased himself into the cushioned seat and tugged out his laptop. Reggie rolled his eyes at the sight of threadbare fingerless gloves. It was a loser aesthetic if he ever saw one. He kicked his own chair back, prepared to get up and walk out when the memory of coach looking at him resurfaced in his head. 

No more games unless these grades came up. He chewed on his lip contemplatively, watching as Jughead ignored him completely and started typing whatever the fuck he typed on that clunky piece of junk. With a loud, put on sigh, he pulled his chair in. "Fine." He grumbled. "Fucking teach me then, Suicide Squad." 

Jughead looked up at him, lips quirked into an amused grin. "Do you watch all the stuff you call me? Because I just never pictured you as a Drew Barrymore, DC kind of guy," he waved his hand in the air a little, as if to encompass Reggie as a whole. "For an idiot you sure must have a lot of layers." 

He could feel the humiliation burn white hot under his skin, and stood up so violently that the chair behind him tumbled to the ground with a clatter. He reached to grab his book when Jughead lurched across the table; so fast that it surprised Reggie. He wasn't aware that a Jones could even have reflexes like that. He's seen him in gym. But Jughead's white hand curls around his tanned wrist quick as a flash. 

"Wait, fuck, I'm sorry," he stumbles out, looking off-guard and uncertain. "I didn't mean that I just..." he removed his hand carefully and stared at the wooden panelling. "If you wanna learn, I'm...here." 

There was a beat of silence, before Reggie sighed and sat down again. Embarrassed over his reaction but soothed, somewhat, by the apology. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

Reggie reached for his pencil case. "Good." He said forcefully. 

 

WEEK TWO 

"I don't get it, Reggie," Jughead groaned, resting his face in his hands. "If you don't understand why don't you just  _tell me?_ It's literally what I'm here for. But this..." he gestured to the paper. "It's like you haven't even looked at it. "You clearly didn't get the counter-current system, so I would have gone over it. But I asked you, and you told me you got it!" 

Reggie swallowed, staring down at the paper guiltily. "I dunno, man." 

"Right," Jughead snorted snidely, "you don't know. That's brilliant." 

The broader boy glared hotly. "You're not that great. You think because you can do math and biology that you're better than me?" 

"Uh, yes, Reggie. Yes I do." He snarked back, matter-of-factly.

He lunged forward and fisted the front of Jughead's plaid shirt in his hands. Jughead, unlike everyone else, didn't wince or cower away from his grip, just stared at him with irritatingly green eyes with all the air of cool confidence that was totally misplaced in a freak like him. Reggie let him go with a fit of disgust. "You don't know anything about me, man. Fuck off." 

Jughead didn't bother to straighten his shirt, and the crumpled mess of it grated on Reggie's nerves. The long arch of his pale neck was on display now and for some reason, his eyes kept getting caught on it. "Next time," he began tersely. "If you don't understand something, you should be brave enough to say. You've brave enough to beat on anyone who's mean to you, you should brave enough to ask for clarification." 

That made...some level of sense, he supposed. He felt the fire ebbing away and he nodded a little, staring at the paper shame-faced. "I guess so." 

Jughead seemed surprised by the acquiescence, and there was an uncomfortable moment of weirdness between them. "What?" He teased gently, "no obscure nickname?" 

Reggie reached for the paper and unclipped his pen. "You wound me, Edgar Allan Poe." 

 

WEEK THREE 

Reggie didn't consider himself the most perceptive person, but when Jughead walks in for their tutoring session, he knows there's something wrong. Dark rings under his eyes, and his clothes look really damp. He turns to look outside and sure enough, it's rainy heavily. "Did you walk to school in this?" He asks incredulously as Jughead takes his seat opposite him. There are really dark circles under his eyes and now that Reggie really looks at it; he looks really skinny too. Not skinny in a funny kind of way, either. 

"How else was I gonna get here?" He mutters under his breath, lethargically unpacking his pack and his fingers are corpse-white instead of their usual parchment colour.

Snark doesn't feel right for the moment. Reggie frowns at him, trying to perceive more than he usually does. But Jones is an enigma. "Are you...okay?" He manages, the words a little clunky on his tongue. 

The words seem to tip something inside of the nerd loner, because Jughead rests his elbows on the table and rakes his hands over his face and through his hair. It knocks the beanie off his head and Reggie is startled by the sight of thick, black locks. Especially how his fingers seem to stand out from it. It looks so soft. "No," he whispers, ashamed, like an admission. "Jesus,  _no._ My dad wants me to move back home, but I- I don't  _believe_ him." 

Reggie feels like he's missing a lot of the conversation. If Jughead isn't living with his dad then who is he living with? If he remembers right, his mom and sister are gone, so is he-

Oh. 

Shit. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He's too busy being struck by the way Jughead's hair flops into his forehead in disarray. He's too busy being struck by the fact that his tutor is homeless. "Um..." he reaches into his bag for the homework he's done and passes it over. "I did this last night."

Jughead takes it with a look of bemusement that softens into one of pride when he actually sees what's written down. "Holy shit, Reggie," he whispers, reaching for his pen, and Reggie feels himself sitting up straighter; blossoming under the praise. "This is amazing."

"No, it-"

"No, it _is."_ Jughead insists, shaking his head in admiration.

Reggie smiles for the rest of the day.

 

WEEK FOUR

"Feeding time, Maurice Fisher," he calls cheerily, waltzing into the study room and tossing a sandwich towards Jughead. He catches it with dextrous fingers and starts unwrapping it. 

"I'm not a stray cat, you know," he says through a mouthful and Reggie rolls his eyes; collapsing into the seat. 

"You are a bit." 

"Only a bit." Jughead agrees easily, shovelling more of the food into his mouth. "How are you coming with the bio project?"

Reggie hums easily. "Should be a C minimum. Coach has to let me play." He knows he's put in enough work lately that without even that much effort this will be enough to get a passing grade over all. He's missed the smell of grass and the burn in his thighs from the adrenaline of running. He looks at Jughead eating and feels a small amount of contentedness for it. He wonders why he's in here eating lunch with him when he could be in the cafeteria with all his friends. He wonders when that happened. When they'd tripped into this...pseudo friendship. "You should come watch me play on Friday." 

The dark haired boy snorts, still holding his sandwich lovingly though it's half gone. "Cheer your name in the stands? Maybe I could even wear your sweatshirt." 

Reggie shrugs, remarkably unconcerned. "If you want." He looks up then to see the look that Jughead's giving him; amused and slightly disbelieving. Reggie feels a little bit defensive. "What?" He asks, shackles raised.

"Nothing, nothing," Jughead replies with a small smile. "I'll be there, sure. You might want to inform your lackeys that I'm an ally and not an enemy though."

He fists his hands under the table. "They won't touch you." He vows vehemently, and nearly blushes at Jughead's completely bewildered look. "I mean-"

"I'll be there," he says, "I mean- if I'm free." 

 

WEEK FIVE 

Jughead's nervous. 

It's cold and it's dark and the glare of the artificial lights make the grass look weird, and he's just not into it. Students have been filing into the seats and he hunches over. He's sitting near the benches for the players at the bottom, huddled into the sight for an easy get away and- jesus it's cold, what is he even doing here? 

"You came," comes a pleased voice, and he looks up to see Reggie haloed by the white light that obscures the stars above them. 

Jughead grimaces and looks to see the other, strapping, muscular plays ease out onto the field. "And I regret it sincerely. It's  _freezing."_

"Maybe if you ate some protein instead of fries all the time," Reggie swipes, but then he's shoving something at Jughead. It's warm and fleece like and he stares at it for a long moment before realising what it is. It's his sweat shirt.  _Reggie 12_ is printed along the back and he holds it in his hand a little uncomprehendingly. "It's nothing." He insists, but Jughead's not so sure. Is this weird? What is this? He's not sure. He slides his hands into the sleeves and it hangs off him largely, but it's comfortable. He's comfortable. He risks a look up to see something warm on Reggie's face. 

"Uh...break a leg?" He offers, trying to go for sincere. 

Reggie swots him across the head before jogging out. 

 

WEEK 6 

"I'm brave." Reggie whispers to himself like a mantra, pacing the study room. "I'm brave. Yes you fucking are, Mantle. You're brave as shit." He smacks himself in the face a little, psyching himself up, and doesn't hear it when the door opens. 

"So," Jughead grins, shaking him back into reality, "you've finally lost your mind, huh? Good to know. It may affect your grade point average." 

 _I'm brave as shit._ Reggie insists, ignoring the barb and reaching over to grab the plaid of Jughead's shirt and pulls him towards him. 

Their lips meet and it's surprisingly soft. Jughead doesn't taste of lipgloss and fruit like girls. He tastes of coffee and toothpaste and something inexplicably addictive. And, to Reggie's upmost delight, he doesn't seem to be pulling away. In fact he's moulding against Reggie, all his soft lines meeting his harder, muscled ones. He's giving it back with the same cocky gait he uses whenever Reggie used to threaten him in hallways. 

Suddenly he's so viciously  _sorry_ that he ever bumped this enigma in corridors, and he slides his hand up into that hair to see if it feels as good as he imagined. An apology and a surrender all at once.

It is as soft. 

When they pull away, Jughead is all flushed lips and bright eyes, looking sexy in a way that Reggie hadn't even thought possible. "Oh," he manages, a little croaky. But his eyes stay stuck on Reggie's lips, so the taller boy is counting it as a win. 

"Too much for you, Wednesday Adams?" He smirks.

Jughead snorts, delighted and fond, before reaching over to grab the collar of Reggie's shirt. "Not enough." He insists, before their lips meet again. 

**Author's Note:**

> review?


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